The Life I've Always Wanted
by Castiel Salvatore
Summary: "The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it." -W.M. Lewis. Oneshot for those who wanted more of a goodbye for the end of team badass. Dalaric/Delena


*****Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own The Vampire Diaries, that honor is given to LJ, Julie, and Kevin : (  
****_A/N-_This oneshot is just something that has been at the back of my mind, couldn't shake it, so I decided to write it down. It's just a small collection of some things I would've liked to have been said, done, during the end scene of 3x20. There is always the possibility of some sort of expansion, though it would most likely be another oneshot entirely, but we will see...  
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**::::::::::The Life I've Always Wanted::::::::::**

The life Alaric had always wanted resembled that of the typical American dream: a white picket fence, a nice house, a green lawn, a dog, a wife, children. Instead he got a dead vampire wife, a dead girlfriend, a psycho alter ego, an impulsive vampire best friend, and an unspoken guardianship over two orphan kids. While it certainly wasn't the life he had imagined or had wanted for himself, he could no longer picture it any other away. Because for the first time in his life, even if only for a brief moment, he had begun to feel a little less lost and more as though he were a _part_ of something; this odd, tragic family that he had been welcomed into. He loved Jeremy and Elena. Even though they were not linked by blood, sometimes it felt as though they were. The thought of now leaving them behind caused something to tear and break deep in his chest. It was what he feared most, fading from this world and transpiring into the next, _what would become of them when he was gone?_

**::::::::::**

Damon stood in front of the stone crypt, staring mindlessly at the carvings embedded within the marble, willing himself to reach for the handle and open the door. The door, which would lead him to a reality he did not want to face; _life without Alaric._

Damon couldn't have anticipated the friendship he would develop with the seemingly average, high school history teacher, when he had first arrived to Mystic Falls. _Hell_, he couldn't have imagined any of this happening.

He tried to remember what life was like before he came here, before he had accumulated this small list of loved ones. All that he discovered was that _this_ was why he remained detached, unfeeling, and callous. All these connections he has made, they would fade away from him in the end. They always did eventually. They all came into his life, forcing him to care-_feel_ something. Then they had nicked their scars into him, scars that never really healed entirely, and left. Leaving him alone and more broken than before.

Damon inhaled deeply, mentally preparing himself, before he pushed open the heavy iron wrought doors, stepping into the dimly lit room. His eyes quickly settled along Alaric's still form, slumped against the dirty walls of the tomb. His fingers loosened slightly around the neck of the bottle that was hanging from his hand. He quickly tore his gaze, harshly pushing back every emotion.

He sauntered into the cramped quarters, "Aw Ric." he huffed sadly, plopping down onto the hard cement next to him, his eyes focused on the wall ahead.

Even though being here marred Damon in a way he would never admit, he knew that it was the right thing to do, to be here for his friend. After all, Alaric had done the same for him when he was "dying". Damon _owed_ him.

"Is this the part where you give me a dream?" Ric lazily rolled his head towards Damon, a smile lightening his deathly features, "Rainbows and rolling green hills."

"I was drunk when I told you that." he drawled, recalling the drunken memory, only to find that it _hurts_ more now.

The realization hits Damon with a crushing force. This would be the last memory he would have with Alaric. No more new ones. Just _this_.

Alaric let out a breathy chuckle, hurdling Damon back into the present. "Yeah and I told you I'd use it against you." he laughed.

"Damn you." Damon mumbled, dropping his gaze to the floor momentarily, before locking it back onto him. "Sorry I killed you." he tilted his head up to the ceiling, a meager smirk spreading across his lips at the ridiculousness of the situation. "_Twice_."

Alaric fell into a heartier fit of laughter, Damon notices just how much effort this takes and it makes the dead organ suspended in his chest feel a little heavier. He's getting weaker now. "I have to actually die to get a real apology out of you." Alaric whispered, remnants of a smile still lingering.

"Drink." Damon urged, passing him the bottle. This was what they were good at. This was how their friendship began and this was how it would end.

"Actually I've been thinking of cutting back." Alaric muttered softly, his voice rough. A tear rolls down his cheek, but Damon pretends not to notice.

Damon snorts, taking a sip. "Yeah," he agreed halfheartedly, "this stuff will kill you."

Alaric weakly grabbed the bottle, knocking it back. He brought the glass down from his lips, letting out a breathy wisp of air.

"We were both pretty badass tonight, weren't we?" Damon smirked, trying to infuse his normal attitude into the nostalgic statement.

"We've had better moments." Alaric rasped, amused.

Damon could feel his indifferent wall cracking under the pressure as he looked at the man beside him. He snapped his head to stare in front of him, bringing the bottle to his mouth and taking a long swig. The lukewarm liquid smacked against his tongue like acid, leaving a burning sting as it trailed down his throat. He relished in the numbing sensation that followed.

A heavy silence settled upon the room. There were so many things that should be said and yet neither found the words. They both found that, perhaps the most obvious of topics-the fate of Elena and Jeremy-were already understood.

"You sure you don't want to turn?" Damon mused, almost hopefully. "I bet there's still enough time for you to transition."

Damon knows that he'd endanger Elena, his brother, himself...but this was _Alaric_. Could he really, idly sit by while he withered away into nothing but an empty shell?

Damon wanted to be selfish. He wanted to forcefully turn him, rather than lose anyone else. And if this situation had occurred a few months ago, he probably would have. But he's changed.

Elena's words-that weren't meant for him-echoed in his mind. "_All he has is his choice."_

She had told him one night of the wise advice she had given her friend, Caroline. Damon finally understood what she had meant.

Alaric shook his head slowly, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. "No." he responded solemnly. "I don't think that my murderous alter ego would make a very good drinking buddy. I'm afraid you're going to have to find a new one."

Damon flashed him his signature smirk, "I think I'm gonna go back to drinking _solo_." he sneered. "It was easier that way..."

Damon tipped the bottle back again, hastily wanting to extinguish the agony that threatened to consume him. Regrettably, he found that the pain had already started to burn a whole in his chest. Finding the booze to be virtually useless now, he passed the bottle back to Ric who took it willingly, as another wave of silence impended overhead.

The air was thick and damp confined within the stone walls. Damon was finding it harder to breathe, harder to keep pretending like everything was normal, like he didn't care.

**::::::::::**

Alaric's body felt heavy, sloth-like with fatigue. That cliché saying, how life flashes before your eyes, he had thought it was a load of bull until now. The pieces-memories of his life were reeling across his mind like an old, watermarked film, skipping in disjointed fragments. Some were moments from his childhood-ones he had not remembered until now-some had happened only yesterday. But the thing he found most consistent, was that most-if not all-of his memories circled around his life in Mystic Falls. Perhaps it was because the people here were the ones he'd miss the most.

"So I guess this is the end of _the epic bender adventures of Alaric n' Damon_." Damon drawled smoothly, filling the empty space.

"I guess so..." Alaric tapered off, the realization fully hitting him.

This was it. No more jabbing comments would be passed between the two comrades. No more exchanging of bottles, drowning of sorrows. He would be no more. He would be dead.

He could feel that the end was coming, that this would be the final chapter in their strange friendship. Alaric wasn't the type who was able to express his emotions well-he and Damon had this in common-but he now found himself struggling to find the words for some sort of goodbye.

"You know when I first met you, you were a real dick." Alaric breathed heavily, smiling lightly at the recollection. "You still are for the most part." he chuckled, the palm of his hand resting over his heart, which now began to constrict painfully; hungry for nourishment, for blood, for air, for _life_.

"Glad to see that having one foot already in the grave, hasn't changed your opinion of me too much." Damon groused, snatching the bottle from Alaric's hands and dragging in lengthy gulps of the amber liquid.

The corners of Ric's mouth trembled up into a lopsided grin. He twisted his head to Damon. It depleted far too much of his energy, even for this simple movement. He took in a shallow gasp of air, before finding the strength to continue. "-But at the end of the day, you were still my best friend."

"-_Am_ your best friend Ric." Damon corrected. "It's not the end of the day just yet." He gave Alaric a melancholy smile and Alaric noticed how the walls were gone, revealing the full extent of the grief that had been encrusted into his empty soul.

Alaric allowed his mind to wonder for a moment, _how Damon got to be this way. Why was he the one that was often deemed as the "expendable" Salvatore? Why did _he_ deserve this?_ Damon was not born a monster-rarely people ever are-he was made one. Reality had been unkind to him and this was the product it had created.

But the facade Damon had intricately designed over the decades didn't fool Alaric anymore; he knew that there was a good heart in him somewhere. And every now and then, he let it show.

"You know you don't always have to be the bad guy." Alaric whispered dolefully.

"But I like it." Damon wiggled his eyebrows teasingly, "It's much more fun to be bad."

Alaric knows that this isn't the case. That Damon constantly feels the need to be the villain, to be the hated one. It prevents anyone from getting close. It avoids painful farewells like this.

Mustering up his remaining strength, Alaric clumsily rests his hand on Damon's knee, giving him a fatherly pat. It's a bittersweet gesture that makes it harder for both of them. "You're allowed to be happy, Damon." Alaric mumbled, his tone steady and serious.

If there was one thing he wanted his friend to know, one thing that he _needed_ to know, it was this. This was the only piece of advice Alaric needed to give. It was something that could not be understood through the silence. He doubted whether or not it could be understood through words.

Damon's face fell, just long enough for Ric to see the flash of anguish that creased the lines of his face. "That's going to be a little harder now." Damon admitted, with a sheepish grin.

Alaric gave him a sad, sympathetic smile, because there was nothing else he _could_ give.

**::::::::::**

The hush that had encased the room was a mixture of relief-from the things said-and terrible anxiety- from what was about to come. Damon has had to glance over, listen, various times to check that Alaric was still in fact Alaric, and not a rotting corpse. The dread, unrelenting, gnawed away at him.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Ric voiced quietly, shattering the tense atmosphere. _Clearly, Alaric's had his own qualms chewing away at him as well._

"You'll move on. Find peace I presume." Damon replied evenly, thrusting back up his collected wall.

Alaric paused, seeming to mull over his question, before licking his lips and speaking, "Do you think I'll see Jenna again?" It's a silent hope he raises. The sedatives are starting to have a visible effect; his words are delayed and slurred.

Damon swallowed thickly, his voice raw with restrained emotion. "Yeah. I do."

It was becoming too painful for Damon. This conversation was reminding him of yet another dead friend. Rose. He wondered who would comfort him when his last moments inevitably came. Surly all the lives he stole were bound to catch up to him and bite him in the ass one day. But who would it be? –Stefan? –_Elena_? They were the only two remaining people that mattered to him.

Yet, a part of him taunted, that he couldn't count on them either. They had each other and once the _perfect_ couple got back together again, they would forget him.

He expelled his murky future from his mind, deciding instead upon letting the guilt seep into his pores and wriggle through his limbs. Damon couldn't help but feel responsible for stealing Alaric's life a bit. Perhaps if he hadn't of killed him, maybe this psychotic alter ego wouldn't have been pressing up against the back walls of Ric's subconscious, waiting for the opportunity to devour him.

"I know you're immortal...but maybe...one day..." Alaric trailed off. Damon could sense it now. The unwanted moment that was encroaching. He could here his stalling heartbeat, ragged breath. His voice was barely above a whisper. His face was ashen, his eyelids too heavy to keep open. "… maybe we'll see each other again...one...day _too_."

Tears burned at the back of Damon's eyes, threatening to spill over. He stubbornly blinked them back.

"You can count on it." he smirked, his voice cracking. "We'll find a nice bottle of scotch and chat about our usual depressing woes. It'll be like you never left."

The corners of Alaric's lips turned up gently. "Make it bourbon."

Damon forced out a feeble chuckle.

As time drew on, the air stilling, condensing with the sorrow that welled in Damon's chest, Alaric's breathing became nearly nonexistent. Damon's ears trained in on his soft heartbeat. His arteries struggled pitifully to push out the staling blood, until they gave out altogether. The red fluid, no longer circulating, lay stagnant in his body.

Damon tightly slammed his eyelids shut, wanting to chase away the nightmares, push away the emotions that were flooding into him with a surprising force.

His head lolled back against the musty stone. He drained the bottle, tasting the anger and distress that lay dormant at the bottom. He mindlessly twirled the wooden cork between his fingers, inhaling a shaky breath before slowly plugging the empty bottle.

Damon languidly shifted upwards, stumbling to his feet. He turned away, not wanting to look at his dead friend. He didn't want to embrace the entirety of his new reality just yet. When the sun's fiery glow peeked out from the horizon, waking the world, _then_ he would compel two gravediggers to bury the body. But for now, he trudged out of the crypt and into the dark night. A faint trickle of moonlight escaped through the dense clouds that obscured the sky. He knew exactly where he was heading, though he didn't really know why. _She didn__'__t want him._ She'd probably reject him the moment he knocked on the door. But she _understood_ him, and right now that's what he needed.

**::::::::::**

Elena stood blankly in front of her bathroom mirror, her hands threading into her hair and undoing the pins, letting her soft tresses fall into loose waves around her shoulders. Blood had stained her cream colored dress and dried on the palm of her hand. She was beginning to feel like no matter what she did, blood was _always_ on her hands. She stared into the reflective glass; her eyes were puffy, laden with grief. This mournful person was no longer a stranger to her. Lately, death has become a permanent fixture in her life.

Stefan had brought her home and now she was left to deal with the sorrow alone. She was tired of everyone dying on her. _When would it stop?_

An unrelenting voice sung at the back of her mind, _when you__'__re dead_. And she knew it was true. People around her would continue to die because she was the doppelganger. Because her loved ones wouldn't stop protecting her, they wouldn't just let her die. Two years ago she never would have imagined that this would be the life that was waiting for her.

She twisted away, sick of the girl in the mirror, and walked towards her room. Her lungs sucked in a sharp gasp of air, at the unexpected sight of the dark figure sitting by her window. Her heart jolted to life, racing with fear, excitement, and anticipation, as it often did in his presence. He tended to have this effect on her. His hands were clasped loosely together, dangling between his legs, his head hung down.

"Damon?" she mused hesitantly.

"I don't even know why I'm here." he blurted out quietly. He lifted his head up, meeting her concerned gaze. "I just needed to see you…"

Elena's heart squeezed painfully at his unveiled crippled expression. Barefoot, she padded over to him, sitting down beside him, tucking her legs beneath her.

"I'm glad you're here." Elena whispered, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear.

His brow furrowed, cocking his head in question, "_Why_? -Wouldn't you rather it be Stefan here with you?" he replied softly. His tone lacked the usual bitterness it normally held when regarding the subject. Instead, she found that it only held an unfathomable sadness. It caused something in her to fracture.

A part of her ached to reach out and brush her lips against his, reigniting the fire that crackled between the two. She wanted to do _something_ to take away his pain, her pain. But she decided against it, knowing that it would only cause more problems in the end.

**::::::::::**

"I'm happy to see that you're alright. I had thought…" Elena trailed off ashamed.

"-That I had gone off on a murder spree?" Damon deadpanned frankly.

She bit her lower lip, nodding apologetically.

Damon knew that he should be offended, outraged, by her snap judgments, her ability to think the worst of him. But he's not. He finds that her assumptions only hurt, more than anything. He knows that he can't blame Elena for thinking that way. He had done so many terrible things, had done so much to make her hate him and yet…she was still here, beside him. It was just a little hard to believe. Nevertheless, if it weren't for her caring, forgiving nature, he probably _would_ be feeding on some sorority chick right now.

He gazed at her, reaching out to caress her cheek. "I told you that this time, you're going to have to figure out your feelings for me yourself." he reminded her gently. "I'm not going to make it so easy for you."

His hand dropped and she timidly smiled at him.

She shook her head, as if to renege on her prior statements. She purposely caught his gaze; her eyes shone with unshed tears. "I'm _glad_ you're here Damon, because besides Jeremy…you're the _only_ other person who really understands who we lost tonight…" she choked on a stifled sob, bringing her backhand to her face to fiercely wipe away the tears that dripped from her eyes. "_We_ were his family Damon….and now he's gone." she whimpered. "He's _really_ gone." she cried, breaking down into a fit of uncontrollable sobs.

Damon wrapped his arm around her. "_Sssshh_. It's ok." he hushed her. "You're gonna be ok." he cooed into her ear.

He wants to wash the pain from her life. He wants to do something, _anything_, to make her happy again, to see her smile. She's a teenager drowning in a world of adult tragedy and she _still_ manages to stay afloat. Keep breathing. Damon was so proud of her, envious, even, of her ability to hold it together. Elena was so strong. It was one of the qualities he loved most about her.

_But would that enduring attribute be wiped away under this strain? How much more loss could she tolerate, before she transformed into a different person? _

He has seen-experienced-firsthand, how grief can change a person. It would _kill_ him if that ever happened to her.

Elena leaned into his shoulder, her fingers gripping the cloth of his shirt. Her slender frame wracked with violent sobs. Damon slipped his hands underneath her legs, cradling her into his chest. With her safely in his arms, he stood to his feet. He carefully sauntered over to the bed.

Gently, Damon laid her down onto the mattress and to his bewilderment, she doesn't let go of him; her hand clutched his longingly, refusing to let go. Blue sought out brown, and he saw the fear of abandonment shining beneath her wet eyes. She slid over to the other side of the bed. Damon filled the void she had created for him, his tender eyes never leaving hers. She curled up against him and his arms reached over her, pulling the comforter around the both of them, before he entwined them around her waist, dragging her close.

Damon didn't know how much time had passed, but he was acutely aware of the sniffling that was now coming from the woman in his arms. He knows she's still awake. Damon hugged her tight, his chin resting on the top of her head. Against his will, a tear manages to slink its way down his cheek. He brushes it away.

Elena pulled back, untangling herself from him, however to Damon's surprise she didn't retreat completely. They now laid on each other's side, facing each other, a thin sliver of space between them. He had thought that after her break down, she'd push him away, tell him to go home, but she doesn't.

Elena reached out, cupping his cheek gingerly. It was not a romantic gesture, no matter how much Damon wanted her touch to convey something deeper, he _knows_…

It's one of comfort, friendship, because _that__'__s_ what they need right now. Not a lover. That was a topic to be addressed another day. Tonight was not about her choosing between the two brothers, but about the loss of a dear friend, a family member.

He gazed deeply into her mahogany orbs, seeing the heartbreak rooted within.

Damon knows she cares about him. Just not the way he wants her to.

He captures her hand and holds it there. She doesn't protest. They both are in need of human contact and they easily find solace in each other.

Elena is a tangible reminder of his humanity. She keeps him grounded, makes him a better man. In all senses, she _is_ his humanity.

She bats her long dark eyelashes, her lips parting slightly, "I want you to know that no matter what happens in the future," and by the future Damon knows she indirectly means the choice she will soon be forced to make, "you'll always have me as a friend." she vowed.

Damon knows it's the moment she's caught up in. The grief. He won't hold her to her promise. He knows things change. _People_ change. Mistakes are made. Sides are taken. But right now, her words are the only thing keeping him from falling off the edge. So he allows himself to take comfort in them. It's a nice thought, to know that there would be one constant person in your life.

So for a moment, he lets himself feel-_care_. Believe that he could have an eternity with her.

Damon gives her one of his rare, genuine smiles and Elena returns it with one of her own.

As he stared at her, watching as her hand dropped and her eyes flutter shut, Damon is determined to make sure that Elena gets the life she's always wanted.

Even though, deep down, he knows that that life doesn't include any vampires.

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